Take Me Down
by hoppnhorn
Summary: When a woman threatens to make his life a little more difficult, Billy finds himself in a tough spot. But will he shake her off, or will she take him down? Rated M for Language, Violence and -eventually- Sex
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold morning and her lungs had started to burn. It made her cough a little, a grin spreading across her lips. God, she had missed this feeling. Huffing and puffing her way through an early morning run was something she'd never imagined she would crave. But there was something about the cold air rushing in and out of her lungs, the way her legs were starting to ache. It made her feel alive, whole.

Poking at her right earbud, she let the hard bass of The Prodigy drown out the growing street traffic. It was only seven in the morning in Southie, but already people were clamoring out of bed to get to work. Cars were passing her at an even tempo as she ran down the sidewalk. It pushed her to chase them, pick up the pace to match the beat in her ears. She was slamming her feet into the pavement, testing her strength.

But suddenly her ankle gave her a warning sting and she forced herself to come to a gradual stop. Leaning over, she caught her breath with hard gasps, her hand reaching down to rub the spot above her right ankle. _Don't hurt yourself, Delaney. _

"Yeah yeah." She muttered, ripping her earbuds out to hang them around her neck. Her doctor was like her shoulder angel, whispering warnings into her ear. It was her first week off medical leave, she needed to ease up on the pushing, for now. "Just get through the week, Delaney." She whispered, gasping for air between each word.

It sounded simple enough; but the motivational mantra only brought the beginning of tears to her eyes. All the pain she'd gone through in the past few months and all the weakness had turned her into a big softy. She hated how out of shape she was. Her right leg was still very thin, withering away in comparison to her left. The incision on her foot felt wrong inside a sock and a shoe and it was pounding in her sneaker. Three months ago, she would have finished her run twenty minutes ago, and she would have been breathing easy.

Swiping her tears away, she stood up and lightly smacked her cheek.

"Snap out of it, Delaney."

"Hey crazy. Are ya gonna pant there all day or can I get some peace and quiet?" A voice replied from nowhere. Spinning on her toe, she watched a leather-clad figure lower a lit cigarette in the mouth of an alley. Still trying to find her breath, she squinted, swallowing air as quietly as possible.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I botherin' you?" She huffed and puffed the rebuttal. Shaking her head, she stretched her right leg, bending over to touch her toes. It didn't take much to get shit from a random stranger anymore. There was no respect in Southie. Not like when she was a kid.

"Yeah." She stood up and frowned back at the alley, the prickling lessening in her ankle. Ready to shoot back another sarcastic remark, her mouth hung open when she got a look at whom she was talking to.

Billy Darley.

Leaning a little out of the alley, his cigarette hovered between his lips as he folded his arms, eyes licking up and down her figure. His eyes alone were enough to give her chills. He'd been that way since grade school, intense and intimidating without any effort at all. But the years had added to that effect. Where his young face had been, there was a man's, lined with high cheekbones and harsh shadows. And his hair was gone. She'd seen photos of him without the dirty blond mess on his scalp, but photos didn't do him justice.

He was the epitome of villain, down to the black tattoos peeking out of his jacket.

Somehow, she managed to pretend that he hadn't startled her at all. She pretended that she didn't know him from Adam, even though she had grown up in the same schools and same neighborhood.

"I'd like to see you run a mile." She replied, gesturing loosely to the cancer-on-a-stick propped in his lips. Jesus, she could remember him smoking when they'd been in fifth grade…all those years ago.

To her surprise, his mouth twitched at the corners, a blip of a smile vanishing before she was sure she'd seen it. Then he took the cigarette and dropped it to the ground, crunching it with his toe.

"I get my exercise other ways, sweetheart." He murmured, his eyes drinking her in again, this time with meaning. Time to go. With a small shake of her head, the earbuds around her neck were returned to their rightful places, killing any further conversation. But before she took off down the sidewalk, she gave Billy Darley once last look.

"Don't litter." She finally shot back, her eyes motioning to the butt under his shoe. Then, without even checking to see his reaction, she was charging back into her stride, putting as much distance as possible between them.

Two miles later, she limped her way up the stairs to her apartment, her right calf cramping while the rest of her just moaned in protest. Breaking bones and snapping tendons were nothing compared to recovery. Recovery took forever and it never seemed to get better.

Completely infuriating.

A quick strip and a minute of waiting later, a hot shower helped ease the aches she knew she'd feel the rest of the day, running all over her back and legs. As she soaped up, she took the time to touch her skin, reaching all the way down to her feet.

The long cuts in her right calf were fully healed and the skin was only slightly raised from the once violent wounds. She traced them gingerly and bit back a hiss of irritation. The nerves were still ultra sensitive to her fingertips, days of physical therapy doing nothing to numb the tingling and itching. Looking down at the marks, she wondered what her leg had looked like before. But all she could remember were the jagged cuts and ugly stitches.

The day she'd gotten those cuts, she'd screamed in anger. At herself, at the driver that had smashed into her car, and the mandatory leave of absence her rehabilitation would require. Weakness and deformity, enemies she'd never imagined she'd have to face.

Now, soap ran over the skin, leaving shiny trails as it went. No more bruises, swelling, or red scars. Just new, pale lines, weaving over the muscles in her calf.

Damn, that morning run had really messed with her head.

Shampooing her hair in less than a minute, the shower ended and she dried off, cursing at the time. First day back on the job and she was going to cut it close. Throwing on her blues, she skidded around the apartment in her socks.

The last accessory went on after her shoes. She pulled it out of the drawer she'd dropped it in weeks ago, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the familiar leather.

"Officer Erica Delaney." She whispered, tracing the number on her badge with a sad smile. Then she caught a glimpse of the clock on the microwave.

"Shit!"

* * *

He was goddamn tired. Not just physically tired. He was mentally exhausted.

Billy closed his eyes and let his head drop onto the brick wall behind him. If anyone could fall asleep standing up, it'd be him. In the past thirty-six hours, he'd gotten no sleep. Hell, he hadn't sat down in almost ten hours. It was to the point where the heels of his boots were starting to make his feet cramp in weird places. He needed a chair, food, and lots of rest. That and a nice long shower. Or even a bath. Billy swallowed, his Adam's apple stretching the skin on his throat. What he would give to sleep in a tub of hot water.

The buzz of his phone broke his fantasy and he snapped it open, pressing the cold plastic to his ear.

"What."

"We're good here." Bodie, his best friend, sounded as worn as Billy felt. He wanted to send his loyal right-hand man home, but they had to stick it out. Only a few more hours and Bones would be happy.

"Good. Get goin'." He didn't even bother to open his eyes the entire time he spoke. What did it matter? No one could see him. No one knew how utterly spent he was.

"Right."

And that was it. They hung up –probably at the same time- and Billy took a hard drag off his cigarette. If it weren't for nicotine and coffee, he would never be able to do these crazy hours. But Bones only had shipments like this once a month, and he usually didn't have to dodge ATF with all this tricky footwork.

Fuck, would that make things easier.

He'd be in bed right now if it weren't for the black van parked a block away. Actually, he'd be long rested by now, out and pumped for a new week. But no. He had to keep the idiot surveillance crew busy until his guys took care of business. A grin tickled his lips. Maybe he should consider the van a compliment: he was important enough to merit watching.

Or whatever.

God, what time was it anyway?

The scuffling of tennis shoes brought him back to the alleyway, his eyes popping open as the sound growing louder. Then there was panting, hard and fast. He turned his head to see a brunette come to a slow stop on the sidewalk, her breath white in the cold morning air. She was gasping for a breath only to sigh it back out a second later. God, joggers. They did this shit until they couldn't even breathe correctly, all in the name of health?

Billy eyed her ass as she leant over, rubbing her legs.

Okay, so maybe staying in shape wasn't all bad. Those spandex pants certainly lifted his spirits.

Among other things.

"Yeah yeah." The girl muttered, ripping out earbuds that buzzed with sound. He watched her pant with an angry tone in her throat, as if she was arguing with her body's need to take in air. As he watched, she continued to mutter in a hushed voice, standing up to smack herself in the cheek.

"Hey crazy. Are ya gonna pant there all day or can I get some peace and quiet?" Billy knew that he'd only said anything to call attention to himself. Part of him was bored and part of him was a little stupid with fatigue. Usually, he didn't put himself out there for casual chat. Actually, Billy didn't do casual chatting, period.

But it got her to turn her head, rosy cheeks and parted lips revealed for him to see. She glanced at him for only a second before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I botherin' you?" She was from Southie alright. The lack of r's in her speech and surplus of attitude put that out in the open immediately. But the scowl on her face perplexed him. Most women didn't talk back to men like him. It didn't have to be him specifically. There was just an unwritten rule in Southie: if you're female and alone, you don't pick a fight with someone who lingers in side alleys. Maybe that wasn't the rule exactly, but the principle stands.

"Yeah." He shot back, entertained by her instant irritation. The remark bought him another look at her face, and this time he saw something new.

Ahhh so she **did** know who he was. Billy hid a cocky smirk. The way her eyebrows fell from their high horses put a little life back in his veins. Nothing beat a cup of coffee like an ego boost. But instead of smiling, the woman merely stared right back, her expression flat and cold. It made him squint a little at her, his mind trying to put a name to her face.

He knew all the locals.

Or so he thought.

"I'd like to see you run a mile." She shot at him suddenly, her hand gesturing to his smoldering cigarette before it flopped back against her thigh. He noticed that nearly nothing jiggled on her leg. Nice. Very nice. Billy wanted to smile, but the lack of a grin on her face kept him from doing so. There was something sterile about her attitude towards him, like she wanted nothing more than for him to vanish in a puff of smoke. Dropping his cigarette, he stomped it out without breaking their eye contact.

"I get my exercise other ways, sweetheart." He murmured. All teasing aside, the woman had a body. Tight ass, strong thighs, trim middle. Her chest was a flat, but the curve of her hips made up for the lack of curve on top. She was just the kind of woman he'd like to burn a few calories with.

Then just as he was starting to warm up, she popped her earbuds back in.

"Don't litter." And off she went. Billy blinked once before he frowned at her bouncing ass in confusion. What the fuck was that?

His phone buzzed again and Billy shook his head, clearing it before he answered.

"What."

"It's Tom." He ducked back into the alley and took up his spot against the brick again, his feet aching a little louder.

"Yeah?"

"It's all set and we just crossed the bridge. Ya good ta go." Thank Jesus. The van full of illegal firearms was out of Southie and safely on it's way out of state. In an hour or so, the switch would be done and a bunch of fat cops would be fucking clueless. Billy nodded to himself and rubbed the back of his scalp. He was tired. Really goddamn tired.

"Good. Call Bag. Have him pick me up." Snapping the phone closed, Billy swallowed a groan of relief. He was going home.

Baggy was there in less than five minutes, Billy's Mustang roaring like a monster down the street. After a quick seating rearrangement, and a stop at Baggy's apartment, Billy was alone in the driver's seat of his baby.

And in the rearview mirror, a black van trailed four cars behind. He let the smile show this time.

"Ya pigs are all a bunch of fuckin' idiots." He whispered with a laugh, turning into his apartment complex. It was sad, really, how utterly obvious the van was in that parking lot. They were smart enough to linger on the street for a while before pulling into the furthest space from the front of the building. But even then, any four year old in Southie would know the back was full of cops. Then again, every four year old in Southie had a parent, or a cousin, brother, sister, grandparent… somebody who'd seen the inside of a jail cell.

Which is why cops were hated in this neighborhood.

As he made the trip from his car to the front door, Billy looked back at the van, sending them an unwavering stare of hatred. Because, let's face it, game over. They'd lost; he'd won.

Pointing it out to them was as easy as flipping them off.

* * *

**New story. New character. I'm going to try and keep this one down to 4 or 5 chapters. **

**Let me know what you think!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

"This is crap."

Lord, how many times had she said that already. Erica poked the radio again, looking for something amusing to listen to as she scowled out the windshield of a police cruiser.

Traffic. She'd been reassigned to traffic.

"Big, steaming, pile of shit." She hissed, punching the knob on the radio to silence the boring chatter. Nothing to listen to, nothing to do. Just sitting. Sitting sitting. She'd done plenty of that on her leave. This wasn't much of an improvement.

After six months as a narcotic's officer, Erica had been demoted to traffic.

"You're fresh off leave, Delaney." She muttered to herself, mocking her lieutenant's exact words. "You barely passed your physical." Biting down on her molars, she felt like punching a hole through the glass next to her head. The only reason she'd barely passed the physical was she hadn't been **on the job.** She needed to get back on the horse. Parking it in a car for hours on end wasn't going to get her in better shape.

A white car chugged by and the radar gun on her dash blipped. 38. Playing with the ends of her fingernails, she gave the little car a pass. Actually, she'd given just about everything under 45 a pass. Sitting just outside Southie, she and her partner had been assigned to the stretch just off the highway. That really pissed Erica off. They weren't out catching the assholes driving Lambo's or Camaros around in their suburbs at 50mph. They were waiting for the tired and stressed dockworkers to come home to their crumbling neighborhoods.

So yeah, she wasn't pulling anyone over for anything under 40. To these people, a $200 ticket would put them back a week's pay…and then some. She couldn't do that without realizing what terrible burden that would become. Not when she'd grown up in Southie herself.

A blue truck bumbled by. 32. She sighed, rearranging herself in the driver's seat. She missed the days when there were two officers to a car. Granted, her partner wasn't more than two blocks away at any moment, but they drove in separate cars. It was all about public image. The more cars on the streets, the "safer" people felt. But the reality of the situation was this: there weren't enough officers to put two in every car.

So, in fleets of two, they drove around alone. But Erica desperately wanted someone to talk to. Especially after the week she'd had. This was her third day on traffic duty and she wanted to stab herself in the eye every time she heard a siren go off. Interesting things were happening all around her, but she was still stuck in neutral.

Maybe her life had really ended with her accident. Maybe this was just her personal version of limbo.

"223, you've got a black Mustang headed in your direction. Clocked in at 68 my way." Jackson was a laid back guy, just like the rest of the traffic force, but even he sounded a little pissed over the radio. "Be advised, the guy isn't using his lights."

Erica groaned, sitting up in her seat as she shifted the car into drive. Assholes who didn't drive with their lights on were like, the epitome of stupid. Glancing up at the sky, she shook her head.

This guy was going to pay a fortune for speeding. Then he was going to double it for driving without his lights on. Not something she could let slide by, unfortunately.

"10-4, 314. Might want a second pair of eyes." She replied into her radio with her foot on the gas. Any second that Mustang was going to roar around the corner. Her heart pumped a little faster with the anticipation of a chase. It wasn't going to be a long one, granted, but at least it was something interesting.

"Already on my way." She nodded to herself as Jackson's voice crackled over the airwaves. Of course he was. Taking down someone going that fast wasn't usually something you did alone. That rule was quadrupled when you were patrolling Southie. You never knew what kind of idiot you were pulling over. They could be tweaking, or armed, or –heaven forbid- carrying a life sentence in their trunk.

Point is: you never know.

Gripping the steering wheel, Erica heard the growl of an engine and her whole body prickled with excitement. Okay, maybe she wanted this guy to give her a little bit of a hard time. She wanted to slam someone into the hood of a car.

God, she had an adrenaline problem.

A second later, the car whizzed by, barely visible on the dark street and Erica floored her cruiser after it. Her radar gun chirped and a red "73" appeared on her dash. Giving a low whistle, she couldn't help but smile.

Speeding up from one cop to the next was just downright bad luck.

Giving her engine a run for its money, she threw on her siren and break lights appeared from the car up ahead. Her gut gave a little turn and she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He was slowing down.

"Party's over, moron." She muttered, following the car off the road into a small parking lot. "314, I've got him pulled in at…" Leaning over, she read the sign of the establishment. She had to release the radio to mute her laughter. "The Pussy Cat." Erica finished with a snort.

"10-4, 223."

The strip joint looked abandoned, the sign turned off against the dark sky. The only light was from the moon, the red glow of the Mustang's breaks and the flashing blue of the silenced siren.

Picking up her ticket clipboard, Erica wrote down the license plate and made some quick notes, taking her time before she actually got out of the car. As she stood up from her seat, a second cruiser slid in the lot, staying close but still out of earshot. Jackson would watch her like hawk, but he had enough respect for her to stay out of it unless she needed him. A lot of the traffic guys treated her that way. She was, in fact, one of the youngest female officers to work narcotics.

_Worked. _

Erica felt like kicking her subconscious in the ass.

Strutting over to the black Mustang, she was too focused on her own internal issues to realize whose car she was approaching. Besides, it was just a little too dark to see the red detailing that tattooed the sides.

Maybe if she'd seen those things, she would have had a better attitude when she rapped a knuckle on the window.

"Roll it down." She muttered. What kind of jerk didn't roll down the window before the officer got there? When the tinted glass slowly sunk out of sight, she got the answer to her question.

"Evenin' officer." Billy Darley smirked at her from the front seat of his Mustang and suddenly Erica couldn't remember the English language. That and the clipboard in her hand suddenly weighed fifteen pounds.

"Mr. Darley." She said his name like it hurt her to utter the syllables. Of all the people in the world, the last person she wanted to see was Billy Darley. His eyes sparkled in her blue flashing lights, lingering at her nametag for just a moment too long. "Do you know how fast you were goin'?" The question was fast and jumbled. Lord, he could still get under her skin so easily.

Talk about irritating.

"Why don't ya just tell me, Delaney?" He muttered. She was mildly startled by his use of her last name, but the reaction was only temporary. It was obvious that Billy didn't remember her. Hell, he hadn't known her name when they'd shared an English class in middle school. The only impression she'd ever left on him was probably in passing. She hadn't been much to look at as a kid: dishwater blonde hair, pale and lanky with just enough acne to make her undesirable. The braces and glasses went away in high school, but Billy had stopped showing up by the end of their sophomore year.

Standing before him now, as a confident woman with dark –dyed- brunette hair, she fought off the desire to tell him **exactly** what she thought of him. And settled for putting him in his place.

"Officer Delaney." She corrected with a glare. Then she scribbled out his ticket. "Seventy-three. That's thirty-eight over the limit and practically reckless driving." He snorted, releasing a puff of cigarette smoke from his lips.

"Who says I was goin' seventy-three?" Pointing out the window with two fingers, he motioned towards Jackson's cruiser. "Your little friend?" Erica felt like smashing her clipboard into his hand, her eyes latching onto the black spots on his fingernails. The guy probably bruised the nail beds on people's faces.

Asshole.

"The radar gun in my car, sir." She kept her voice from turning into a snarl by clenching her back teeth. "You were also driving without using your lights, which is an additional penalty." As she muttered to him, she was scribbling numbers on his ticket, filling out the information at the speed of light.

The last thing she wanted to do was stand there and talk to Billy Darley about his speeding.

"What would ya say if I said you're full of shit?" He growled at her.

Her pen went still on the clipboard and her eyes flashed to his. Oh yeah, he'd done it.

"I'd say this: step out of the car." She ordered, settling her hand on her sidearm as she backed from his door. Billy's eyebrows flat-lined and fury etched on his forehead. If he'd been mad before, she'd thoroughly kicked him into rage territory. Too bad. She had a temper too, and she wasn't about to let him back talk her. No one was going to get away with that.

"Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me?" He snarled, eyes trained on her face like he planned to rip it off. Erica wanted to smile.

"No jokes here. Step out of the car."

* * *

He'd had a decent day, all things considered. Bones had been quiet after that successful deal and the boys were all lying low, catching up on rest and other essential activities.

Billy, personally, had spent a day in bed with a very talented redhead. That had a way of putting a little bit of spring back into his step. Okay, so maybe he'd been strutting around like a cocky bastard after that ATF fiasco. The idiots pulled the van off of him about an hour after he'd left them in the parking lot, and he'd been living up the freedom ever since.

Shit, those guys had probably gotten their asses handed to them while he'd passed out cold in the comfort of his bed.

Yet, somehow, here he was, getting shit on by the man all over again.

"Hands on the hood."

Alright, so maybe it was a woman. A very pissy woman. Billy flicked his cigarette onto the asphalt and simply glared at the officer. She tilted her chin upwards, tempting him to grab her by the jaw and tell her a thing or two about Southie and how the food chain worked.

_Keep your fuckin' head, Darley._

Turning slowly, he put his palms on the hood of his baby, the warm metal sweating against his skin.

"This is bullshit." He growled. Angry didn't really cut it at this point. No one got to push him around and get away with it. The cops included. The fact that this bitch thought she was special made his blood boil.

He was so mad he was a little hard.

"I'm going to pat you down." She spoke from behind him and he ground his back teeth. So fucking humiliating. Getting patted down in his own goddamn territory. "Is there anything on you that will hurt me?"

He couldn't help but smirk. Oh, there was something on him that could hurt her. It was an evil thought, but he was too pissed to care.

"No."

Then, sure enough, her hands started patting on his shoulders, running down his arms. When she got to the ends of his sleeves, she started back on his spine, patting the length of his back down to his hips. When she touched the small of his back, her fingers lingered; like she'd expected something to be there and was disappointed when she found nothing.

Billy got a little harder.

This cop knew a thing or two about him. From the second she'd called him "Mr. Darley" he'd tried to figure out where he'd seen her before. She couldn't have run his plates already, and she hadn't seen his license either. So she'd known him by his face alone.

And now she knew that he usually carrying.

Too bad he'd ditched his .45 in the hidden spot under the driver's side seat. That was one of the first things he'd done when the cruiser had shot out from behind him. That, and swear to high heaven.

Pigs really knew how to piss him off.

Her inspection continued at his right ankle, patting up his leg to his mid-thigh. When she continued with the left, he held his breath.

Just like he thought, her hand landed squarely on his semi-erect cock. Billy held in a grunt. The touch hadn't been the gentlest of things, so he closed his eyes in discomfort.

"Okay, you can turn around now."

He took his goddamn time doing that. And when he was facing her once again, she looked like nothing had happened. She was just scribbling on a ticket, frowning at the piece of paper.

"You're gonna regret that." He muttered.

Not the smartest thing to say, and he knew it. But Billy was fucking pissed. Her eyes flicked up to him and he felt her return the anger. God, what was it with this chick? The green eyes that looked back at him were burning.

"Don't threaten me, Darley."

His spine erupted with tingles. One second she'd been a cop with a chip on her shoulder. But the woman glaring at him right now was no cop. She was full-blooded Irish, and her voice rang with a Southie accent.

"Who are you?" He found himself whispering, his frown easing on his forehead.

And just like that, the fire in the brunette's eyes vanished.

"Officer Delaney." She repeated. Then she tore off the piece of paper on her clipboard. "Pay this ticket by this date, or they'll issue a warrant for your arrest." He took the ticket and glanced at the markings.

"$710?!" He growled, taking a step forward.

The moment he moved, the driver's side door of the second cruiser opened and an officer stood up. He didn't approach, but he was glaring across the lot with intent. The woman didn't even flinch. She stared at Billy head on, chin raised in defiance.

God, he wanted to see her mad again. There was something there, under her skin.

"Consider yourself lucky that I didn't drag you in for harassing an officer." She shot back.

"Harassin' my ass." He grunted. "We both know ya had no reason to search me." Billy might not obey the law, but that didn't mean he was oblivious to it. The rules needed to be learned in order to break them properly. And you didn't stay out of prison by running around clueless.

"Like I said, you're lucky." She replied pointedly. "Pay your ticket." With that, she marched away, leaving him beside his car like an idiot.

That's when he remembered.

"And don't litter, right?" He called after her. She froze only a few steps away and turned her head.

Yup, same woman. As clear as he could see her now, he could see her in those running pants, gasping for air on the sidewalk. Her face had been flushed from the cold, tinting them a rosy pink. Now a similar blush was rising to her cheeks. But it wasn't cold outside.

"Sure." She muttered back. Billy itched to push her further, to find the Southie girl she was hiding beneath a badge.

"Have a good night, Officer Delaney." He murmured. As he said her name, Billy made a silence promise to her. He **was **going to find out who she was. He **was** going to find that Southie girl.

And she **was** going to regret tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

_The impact hit her like a train. Her neck hurt immediately as her head was tossed around and she could feel her ribs smashing into the armrest. A terrible crunching noise broke her ears with its volume and Erica felt her hands hitting the dash. But all she saw was black. The backs of her eyelids. She had closed her eyes. Why? She'd seen the car when it was too late. There was nothing a flinch would solve, nothing a last minute reaction would prevent._

_So maybe the intent, all along, had been escape._

"NO!" Erica bolted upright in bed like she was in that car again. Her heart was pounding, her skin was damp, and her foot was on fire. Bending her knee, she brought her right leg to her chest, lightly touching the stinging scars with tears in her eyes.

"Goddamn it." She cursed herself as her nightmares manifested in her traumatized nerves. "Please stop." Her fingers felt invasive on her own skin as she massaged the bright scarlet incisions on her foot. But the therapist insisted touching them would help. Insisted.

Right now, she just wanted to goddamn sleep.

Glancing over at her clock, she grunted at the time. 5:30pm. She'd been asleep for only twoish hours…and now it would take another hour to get back to sleep, provided another nightmare didn't interrupt that too. Thankfully, her next shift didn't start until late the next day.

Maybe a run would clear her head.

Erica laughed cruelly at herself. Of course a run wouldn't help. That remedy only worked for the undamaged, physically fit Erica Delaney. She wasn't that girl anymore. The new Erica wanted a beer.

God, the difference three months made.

Shifting her weight around, she let her good foot dangle off the side of the bed as she continued rubbing the right. The tingling had gone down, but the tension in her body remained. Those nightmares. They hadn't consistently stopped, ever. It seemed when she hadn't had one for a few nights, the reenactment would return full force. And with malicious detail. It wasn't just headlights and darkness. She remembered the crunch of the door, the crack of the windshield, and the sickening thuds as her car had rolled, over and over and over.

"Stop." She muttered to herself, shaking her head to push the memory away. The accident was over. The pain was nearly gone. Everything she was feeling was in her head. The tingling in her foot was from her head. The attitude issues were from her **head.** Playing with her toes, she rubbed away from her scars.

The pain was fading.

A shrill ring broke the growing calm and Erica flinched. Her home phone. Every time it rang, she was tempted to rip the cord from the wall. Besides her mother, no one ever called her on the landline.

"I'm not answerin', ma." She grunted, covering her ears as the phone gave a second, screaming ring. "Nope. Not doin' it."

Three rings. Flopping onto her pillows, she waited for the message machine to pick up. Why the hell did she still have a phone, anyway?

Four rings.

"_Hi, you've reached Erica Delaney. I'm not here. Please leave a message after the beep and I'll get back to you. Thanks." _Erica made a face at her own voice. The recording was old, made over two years ago when she'd first moved into the new apartment. Back when she was the optimistic rookie who'd been promoted after six months. She hadn't been in narcotics then, but she was on her way up. Things were good back then. And it was evident in her voice. That happy little message mocked her now.

"Erica, it's your mother. I know you're there."

"No. I'm not." She sang, waiting as her mother sat in silence on her machine.

"Erica. Pick up the phone."

"Nope." Crossing her arms, she stared at the ceiling in defiance. Even miles away, her mother was bossy, but her control didn't extend over phone lines.

"Erica. You haven't called me back in a week. I'm worried." Okay, now she felt like an asshole. Her mother's voice softened in genuine worry. While her mom drove her crazy, she was still the best mom anyone could ask for. "Plus I've called the station, and they told me you were demoted."

Suddenly she didn't feel to bad for screening her calls. Rolling over, Erica popped off the mattress and walked to the bathroom. Forget listening to the rest. She knew the rest.

"I want you to move out here, honey. Ken golfs with the assistant district attorney and you wouldn't be working so many hours in that dirty city." Erica flipped on the lights as she rolled her eyes. Really? Dirty city? Her mother had raised her in Southie without a worry in the world. That was, until she'd met her new husband Ken.

God, the guy made Erica feel like clawing her eyes out. Her stepfather was all diamonds and country clubs and shit. Her once blue-collar mother was now a full-fledged money monkey. The only blessing was that Ken had moved them out of Massachusetts to Maryland years ago, and left Erica to enjoy her 'dirty city' in peace.

"Please call me back, Erica honey. I'm worried about your future." With a sigh, her mother hung up and Erica stared at herself in the mirror.

She was a mess. Dark circles under her eyes, hair without a hint of shine, eyes that looked flat in the florescent lights…she was a ghost in living skin.

"I'm worried too, ma." She whispered to the mirror, staring like it would answer.

* * *

Problems come from three things in life: sex, money, and sex. Billy sat on the hood of his car and watched as Heco fought off a furious Latina, his Spanish mixing with curses as she screeched at him. He grinned as his friend was repeatedly smacked, his body absorbing each blow without issue. There was hardly a gram of fat on the guy, so his skin barely moved when she whacked him.

"Puta madre de dios!" Heco bellowed. Grabbing the girl's arms, he worked to contain her and Billy chuckled under his breath. Oh, it was getting interesting now.

Heco had a problem when it came to women. He liked to seduce all sorts, and he was good at it. And sometimes, it took some big lies to get those 'sorts' between his sheets.

The sort he was currently wrestling into submission was the 'monogamous' sort…the kind most called the 'wife' sort. Billy shuddered. There was nothing on the planet that could make marriage an attractive thing. No pussy was worth that kind of prison.

A slap cracked through the air and Billy watched as the Latina strut away, leaving Heco with his jaw in his hand. He cursed after her in Spanish, but she was through with him, it seemed, her ass swaying back and forth as she hustled away. Billy snorted while Heco skulked back to the Mustang.

"Fuckin' bitch." He muttered, glaring at her figure in the distance. Billy raised an eyebrow and took a drag with a smirk.

"What was that for?" He asked, hissing a lungful of smoke into the air. The sun was starting to set, casting pink and orange light across the sky. Heco coughed something that resembled a laugh, then shook his head.

"I mighta told 'er I was single." He murmured. Billy barked a laugh.

"Yeah, single for the night." They shared a mutual laugh of understanding. Billy and his crew might not have steady girlfriends most of the time, but when they did, they most certainly weren't faithful. To anyone. Heco's on-again, off-again girlfriend knew that and didn't care. In fact, Heco had bragged about Hailee fucking girls on the side.

Talk about the perfect goddamn girlfriend.

"What did she call ya at the end?" Billy asked, replaying the heated conversation and jumbled Spanish. He was usually pretty good at cluing into the other language, but women had a way of talking to fast…in any language. Heco snorted and wiped his mouth with a hand, hiding a smile.

"She called me a donkey's asshole." He murmured. Billy coughed on his second drag, laughing through his nose.

"An ass's asshole?" They both snickered like kids.

"Yeah, creative, huh?" Heco smirked and grinned wide. "Probably one of the better names I've been called." Billy snorted.

"I don't know…I liked the one Hailee called ya when she threw that plant at ya head. What was it?"

"Cocksucking assclown." Heco grinned while Billy broke into low laughter.

"The woman has a mouth." He snickered, taking another drag. The reply? A deep, knowing laugh from Heco.

"Ohhh, yes she does. A really, talented one."

The imagery was enough to give them both pause.

When pictures of Hailee's mouth around his cock evaporated, Billy hissed smoke into the air, looking across the street. Between an alley and a bar was a little grocery that had been in business ever since Billy had been alive. Barnie's Mart and Coffee Stop. Good for a gallon of milk, but not for a cup of coffee. The last time Billy made the mistake of believing the 'Coffee Stop' bit, he'd gagged on a mouthful of sock-flavored water.

Billy liked this part of the neighborhood. Specifically, he liked leaning against his car in front of Barnie's seventeen-year-old daughter. She was stacked in all the right places, and he was playing his cards to get a piece when it went on the market. Today she was wearing a purple v-neck along with the skin-tight jeans that she wore everyday. He couldn't wait to get his hands on all the curves on that girl.

"Apparently she's blown every kid on the football team." Heco murmured, following Billy's line of sight as he watched the girl clean the front window, her shirt coming up in the front to reveal a little of her lower stomach.

"I don't give two shits about what she's done." Billy murmured, licking his front teeth with the tip of his tongue. "Actually, it'll make my work a little easier."

"As long as she's still tight." Heco added. Billy rolled his eyes.

"She's not loose, ya dumbshit. She didn't fuck the goddamn football team, she blew 'em." The girl in question caught them watching and she smiled, smoothing her shirt so her breasts practically popped out of the v in front. "And she can blow 'em all again, for all I care." Billy added, taking a hard pull on his cigarette. "Practice makes perfect."

Heco hummed his approval and they went silent.

That front window must be dirty, because she was cleaning it again…this time with her 'bed me' eyes on.

Then a woman came inside and his prey scuttled from sight to avoid catching a door in the face. Billy sighed as his peep show was replaced by a woman in sweatpants and a black windbreaker.

"Let's get goin'." Billy muttered, tossing his cigarette. Heco nodded and followed suit, rubbing his face again as Billy went to circle the car. Barnie's daughter was helping the woman find something in the first isle, their faces appearing as they scanned the selection.

Wait.

Billy bolted around the car to get a better look.

It couldn't be.

Brown hair. Medium height.

"Yo, what's up?" Heco was half in, half out of the car, blinking stupidly from Billy to the store.

She was slim even though her jacket and sweats hid her in bulky material. But he'd recognize that face anywhere. It had been burned into his retinas when she'd stared him in the eye.

Looking over, there was one car in the lot. White. Boring. Definitely hers. She'd driven, which meant she didn't live too close. But she'd chosen Barnie's over lots of big chain groceries that were just a few miles away. She was definitely a local. And she was finally in his crosshairs.

* * *

Barnie's was always empty. How the place stayed in business, she never knew. But it was the kind of low-key Erica liked. No one was going to wonder why she looked so tired, or why she was wearing her college sweats in the middle of the afternoon. She could look like shit and no one would care.

So she came in, looking like shit, and was pleased to find the place empty.

Well, except for Masie.

"You need any help?" The girl was chipper like always, smiling with teeth that had to be straight out of braces. Erica gave her a weak smile back, suddenly wondering where her old retainer had ended up.

"Uh, yeah. You guys carry a low dose sleep aid?" She asked, glancing at the long row of Tylenol and other things she already had in her bathroom cabinet. What she needed was a full night of sleep. Not cherry flavored cough syrup.

"Sure!" Masie bounced down the isle to lead the way and Erica followed with a much slower strut. She remembered when Masie had been born. Hell, she remembered Masie coloring in coloring books behind the counter when Erica had been in high school. Now the girl was wearing jeans two sizes too small and…

Erica squinted to see the top of a black tattoo on the girl's lower back.

"Here's what we have." Masie whirled around and Erica lifted her gaze in time to avoid getting caught staring at the girl's ass. With a nod and a murmur of thanks, Erica deliberated which to buy and the girl bounded off. She'd never used a sleep aid before, but the circles under her eyes dictated that she needed to, possible future dependency or not. Reading ingredients and measuring doses, she lost herself in price comparison and her mind began to wander.

What the fuck was she going to do if she never got back on narcotics? She couldn't deal with another climb up the ladder. She'd worked too hard for too long to get where she'd been, only to have it taken from her in the blink of an eye. Six months in traffic would have her swallowing a whole bottle of these sleeping pills.

The thought jolted Erica out of her trance and she practically threw the bottle back on the shelf. Forget sleeping pills, she was buying a gallon of milk and knocking herself out the old fashioned way.

"Nice throw." Her head snapped around as Erica was startled to discover that she was not alone in that isle. Her company, however, startled her even further. Billy Darley looked her in the eye without a hint of emotion on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Erica barked the first thing her mind spit out. And Billy arched an eyebrow.

"I can't go to the store?" He mocked her by plucking a bottle of aspirin off the shelves. Glancing at the bottle, she gave him a sneer.

"Got a headache?" Billy grinned down at the label, rattling the pills as he turned the bottle in his palm.

"Nah. Just a pain in my ass." His eyes flashed up to hers and Erica felt the weight of his words. It hadn't been hard for her to look him in the eye and tell him off when in uniform. But in her sweatpants –the ones with paw prints on the ass cheeks- and an old boyfriend's running jacket, she felt stupid and small. Not that she would ever let him know that. Lifting her chin, she brushed a piece of hair from her face and sighed.

"Look, I was just doin' my job." It was a feeble excuse and she knew it. Her job would have been writing him a ticket, but she'd taken it a step further. She'd let him get under her skin, so she had –in turn- gotten under his. Billy snorted and set the aspirin down with a clunk, all teasing gone.

"That's bullshit, cop, and we both know it." He took a step closer and Erica's skin shuddered around her bones. The guy was huge. Bigger –it seemed- now that she was unarmed and wearing moccasins. God, he had a way of making it seem necessary to carry her sidearm everywhere.

Not that it would help. Billy was probably packing some serious heat in the waistband of his jeans…now that she couldn't search him.

"No it-" She started. His eyebrow arched and Erica just about sighed. Then, against all the logic in her brain, she shot him a glare. "Well, shit. Ya sort of asked for it."

* * *

Hard. Instantly. It wasn't something he could control, understand, or even appreciate. Billy was just hard. Standing at attention in his pants. Full salute.

And it was all because of her goddamn voice.

The bossy cop had dropped her r's and lost the shiny professionalism and suddenly she was different person. She had an attitude a mile high and balls to rival his own, calling him out while she was buying her Midol. Billy had to force himself not to adjust his jeans. Better to keep her glaring at his face than staring at the huge hard-on he had down the left leg of his pants. But, regardless of his bipolar cock, Billy wasn't letting her get away with anything.

"'Scuse me?" He muttered, squinting at her while he leaned down. "How the fuck did I ask for it?" She barely batted an eyelash.

"Ya gave me a hard time. I got pissed off." Her shoulders shrugged, the baggy windbreaker rubbing against itself in a little sigh. Billy didn't like how unmoved she was. People didn't piss him off without consequences, but this _girl_ was pushing his button and shrugging it off.

"Ya sure ya weren't just lookin' for an excuse to arrest me?" Billy grumbled, moving closer. He hadn't missed how Barnie's daughter had been listening from a couple isles away. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was teenage gossip. Being seen with a cop wasn't bad for his reputation necessarily, it was the fact that the cop was a woman that bothered him. A decent looking woman. His eyes slid down her frame again, taking in the things he'd missed.

Her legs were all but invisible under the massive sweatpants she was wearing. But the t-shirt beneath her blazer hugged her body, revealing a strong stomach and decent chest. She was irritatingly attractive and she didn't need to dress like Barnie's daughter to plant the suggestion in his head. Billy was experienced enough to undress a woman with his mind, and he'd already started in on this girl. Which bugged him. If anything, he should be disgusted by her.

She. was. a. cop.

"Don't flatter yaself." She muttered, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I just don't let men give me a hard time cuz I'm not swingin' a big cock around."

_Jesus Christ._ For the first time in a long time, Billy had no idea how to respond. His brows hit the ceiling and he just stared at her. Okay and his cock was pumping like she'd addressed it directly. Which she had…practically. But he gathered his wits in a couple of blinks, reeling in his active imagination.

"I don't discriminate." He purred. Leaning down, he made it so they were staring eye to eye, one of his arms propped on the shelf near her head. Damn, she was fearless, or at least she looked fearless. The woman hadn't blinked or moved, despite how close he got. "I hate all cops."

She smiled. Not a friendly one either. Billy's thighs tingled from the grin that unfolded over her lips. It was a deadly smile. Deadly and delicious.

"Hooray for me." Without looking, she grabbed a bottle off the shelf and motioned behind him with her eyes. "Now, if you're done hatin' me, I'm gonna go." Her stare dared him to say anything. It forced him to remember who she was, ultimately. She was the enemy. And you didn't pop into grocery stores to say howdy to the enemy. Or chat them up for half an hour.

"You should watch your mouth." He hissed. "I told ya you'd regret it." She held his gaze and her green eyes flared.

"And I told ya not to threaten me." She sidestepped him quickly, but didn't run away. Her face was turned to keep their eye contact and he held his breath. "Ya don't scare me, Billy. So quit tryin'." Then she calmly walked down the isle to the counter. He watched her pay, take her bag, and push open the front door at an even speed. It was as if he hadn't been there at all.

"Hey Billy." The girl at the counter was smiling at him, playing with the little cross that dangled in her cleavage. He walked past without a word.

Heco was in the passenger's seat of the Mustang when Billy crossed the street, grinding his jaw in frustration. Both times he'd met that girl, she'd left him angry and unsatisfied. **Officer.** She was an officer. Not a girl. A cop. A motherfucking cop.

A cop that gave him stupid-hard wood.

"You do it?" Billy asked with a grunt, taking his seat next to Heco. The man grinned and nodded, watching the store from out the window.

"Name's Erica Delaney. Lives off Fairway, couple minutes away." Billy sighed and nodded. He'd won some sort of prize. Her name and her location. Now he had something on her.

_Erica._

"And while I was pokin' around... I took this." Heco said with a chuckle, holding out his hand. When Billy saw what was in his palm, he all out smiled.

The win for this round definitely went to him.

* * *

Her hands were shaking the entire time she checked out with Masie. But she hadn't let her nervousness show anywhere else, not when she could feel his eyes burning into the back of her head.

Getting out of that store was like walking into the arms of an old friend. All her tension lifted and her breath rushed out of her chest in a cloud of white. It was getting colder outside as the sun started to vanish altogether. Her quick grocery run had turned into a fifteen minute nightmare.

Seriously. She was going to have nightmares. And not about car accidents.

The way Billy Darley affected her was crazy. It was like not a day had passed since high school. He would pass her and she'd have to hold her breath. She'd hear his voice and her ears were straining to hold on to every word out of his mouth. He was a celebrity back then…now he was just notorious. A celebrity of a different kind. Yet he still drew her attention in a way she couldn't understand. Sure, in high school he'd been the mysterious bad boy. But now...

Goddamn it she needed to get a grip.

Huffing her way around her car, she tossed her single purchase into the passenger's side and plopped into the driver's seat. Both hands on the steering wheel, she gripped it until her knuckles turned white.

"Fucking hell." She muttered. Just then, Billy busted through the front door of Barnie's and strut across the street. Shoulders swaying, head lowered in a controlled glower. "Because obviously you don't scare me, Darley." What kind of idiot was she? The complete kind. He didn't just scare her; he intimidated her in the most primitive sense. His very presence dominated her.

And sent weird vibes all over her body.

When Billy was safely in his car, out of sight, Erica sighed and planted her forehead into the steering wheel. If she thought she was getting any sleep, she was goddamn crazy. She shoved her keys into the ignition with her head still down, sighing again as she turned them.

Her car gave a sad groan. Erica sat up and stared at the dash, repeating the twist of her wrist with frown. The little car shuddered and did nothing. Glaring at her dashboard, she gave it a third go without any luck.

"Really?" She practically kicked open her door, scuffing her shoes around to open the hood. When the metal flap gave way, she was expecting to see the usual. Something smoking, or leaking, or whatever. Her car had pretty much gone through everything an older car could and she'd gotten well acquainted with her engine. But this wasn't one of those problems. She only needed one look at the car to know what was wrong.

"Son of a fucking bitch!"

She whipped her head around just in time to see the black Mustang roar down the street, the sound mocking her like a low, gravelly laugh. With a fury to rival a hurricane, Erica slammed the hood down on her car and ripped out her cell phone.

"Yeah Tommy… I need a favor…someone goddamn stole my main fuse."


End file.
